


When Buffy Met Spike

by Baphrosia (spuffy_luvr)



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, Holidays, New Year's Eve, Season/Series 02, Season/Series 03, Season/Series 04, Season/Series 05, Season/Series 06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2013-01-04
Packaged: 2017-11-22 15:01:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/611107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spuffy_luvr/pseuds/Baphrosia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of New Year's Eve encounters between Buffy and Spike throughout the years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. (S2) 1997

**Author's Note:**

> I felt like adding to the glut of Holiday fic, so here you go! :) This is in no way meant to be deep or thought-provoking, and may require the occasional suspension of disbelief over how our heroes act. The holidays can make you act a little crazy, you know.
> 
> Ever so loosely based on 'When Harry Met Sally' - the premise that Harry and Sally make a pact to spend New Year's Eve together anytime they're alone.
> 
> I'm currently through S5, and hope to post a chapter a day, but don't hold me to it. I thought S2 would be the hardest to write. It turns out it wasn't, because when Buffy starts getting visions of Dru, she only questions whether Dru is alive, not Spike. And she's not surprised to see that he's alive later on. So obviously she did meet up with him on New Year's Eve. Right?

Season Two – 1997 

 

Buffy flopped down on the stool next to Xander, sucking thirstily at her diet Coke as Willow did the same on the other side of her.  “I think my jivin’ feet are plum tuckered out for the night,” she said, taking off a strappy shoe and massaging her arch with a grateful moan.  “If I leave now, I can make Mom happy by watching the sparkly ball drop with her.”

“Oh come on, Buffster, the night is young and so are we!  You really going to choose to ring in the New Year with your parental unit over us cool cats at the Bronze?” Xander asked.

“Yeah,” she nodded.  “I really am.  Mom’s been kinda blue.  That whole being a divorced woman during the holidays thing is still new to her, you know?  She wants me to commiserate with her in single woman solidarity over large tubs of ice cream, and what kind of daughter would I be to turn her down?  Even if I’m not exactly amongst the ranks of single women myself… but she doesn’t know that.”

Willow waved her drink in Buffy’s face.  “Explain again how come you’re flying solo tonight, when you and Angel are normally making with the smoochies?  I still don’t get it.”

“Me either,” Buffy said, her mouth turning down in a pout.  “I guess when you’ve rung in, what, two hundred and fifty or so New Years, the two hundred and fifty-first isn’t quite as exciting anymore.  He had some business out of town…  I tried hinting that it would be nice to have my boyfriend back home by tonight, but…”  She shrugged.  “I decided to be mature Buffy instead of clingy Buffy.  It’s just another night, right?  Nothing special.”

“Sure,” Xander said.  “You guys have been joined at the mouth so much lately, your lips probably need to take a break anyhow.  Before they fuse to his and you create some strange vampire-Slayer hybrid.”

Buffy rolled her eyes and grabbed her purse.  “Me and my well-exercised lips are gonna go take care of that vamp heading for the back, and then I’m going to vamoose.  See you guys next year,” she said, pulling the two of them in for a quick hug.

Away from her friends, Buffy let her perky demeanor fall away as she followed the vamp down a deserted hallway, grumbling to herself about stupid boyfriends who didn’t understand how important these special occasions were to a girl.

“Hey,” she said, and the vamp turned, right into her stake.  She looked at the wooden in point in surprise.  “Well that was easy.”

“Oi, Mort!” a voice called through one of the open doors at the end of the hall.  “Hurry it up already!”

Buffy hurried on Mort’s behalf, pushing open the door and freezing in surprise.  “I thought you were dead!” she said stupidly.

Spike glared at her from his wheelchair, the red and raw burns that covered the side of his face making his countenance even more ferocious.  He sat up from his slouch with careful deliberation, bringing two fingers to the side of his neck and laying them over his jugular in a mockery of taking his pulse.  The vampire looked off into the distance, then mimed looking at a watch.

“Whaddya know, Slayer, you’re right.  ‘M dead after all.  Thanks for the tip, run along now.”  He waved her away, taking a pull off the bottle in his other hand, amber liquid sloshing about as he grimaced in pain.

“What?  No!” she countered, waving her stake, outraged at his casual dismissal of her.  “Obviously I didn’t kill you hard enough last time.”

“So you gonna stake the cripple?  How very sporting of you.”  Spike sighed, then shrugged off his jacket with a wince and made a show of pulling his black shirt tight over his heart.  “Right, mind the leather, then, and make it quick.”

Buffy cringed at the sight of his hands, which looked even worse than his face.  Pity flashed through her, which she so didn’t want to feel.  Trying to shrug it off, she snapped, “It’s not _cripple_ , it’s handicapped… or handicapable… or…”  She flushed, feeling about six years old when the vampire began to chuckle.

“Well, that’s how you know I’m evil, innit Betty.  I don’t run with the PC crowd, now do I?”  He snorted as her cheeks flamed brighter, shaking his head.  “These holier-than-thou young girls they send after us vamps…  So, you gonna do me or what?  ‘Ve better things to do than wait around for you to grow a pair.”

Glaring at Spike, she strode towards him, wooden stake held high.  “Oh that’s it, mister.  You are _so_ going down, wheelchair or no.”  He didn’t react other than to thrust his chest out farther, head turned away, eyes closed.  She raised her weapon, waiting for him to say something – anything – then lowered it in bewilderment when he didn’t.  “You’re really just going to let me dust you?”

Spike slumped back into his chair, eyes downcast.  “Does my unlife look worth living to you?  You put me in a sodding wheelchair.  Maybe for all eternity, I don’t know.  S’not much to look forward to, you know.”  He raised the bottle to his mouth once more, draining it then tossing it carelessly to the side.

The pity welled up again.  “You won’t… heal?”

“Dunno,” he shrugged.  “And you know what the real kicker is?  You broke my bloody back, so s’not just my legs what won’t work.  Can’t even get little Willie up for a good shag, never mind fetch my own dinner.  Only consolation is I don’t need to worry ‘bout taking a piss like a real boy.”

“Ew.  And _ewwwww_ ,” Buffy said to his confession.

Spike eyed her speculatively.  “’Course, Slayer blood is something else.  If you’re feeling sorry for a fellow, maybe you could sit on my lap, let me have a taste, wriggle ‘round a bit while you’re at it.  Might perk things up.”  He flared his nostrils, sniffed at her.  “Oh-ho, virgin blood too, at that.  Whattsa matter with Angelus, he can’t get it up either?”

She slapped the good side of his face.  “Either you’re the most disgusting creature on the face of the planet, or you’re really itching for me to turn you into an impotent pile of dust.”

“Was just a thought,” he muttered mulishly.  “Since you’re not making with the sacred duty, thought you might be inclined to help me out.”  He craned his neck to look around her.  “Oi!  Mort!  Ready to leave now!”

Holding her hand up high, Buffy said, “Big fellow, yay tall, dresses worse than you, thinks mullets are the height of fashion?  Yeah, he won’t be coming to your rescue anytime soon.”

“You bloody bitch,” Spike snarled.  “You staked Mort too?  How the hell am I going to get home now?  Knew it was a mistake to head out tonight.  Should never have listened to the minions.  Cheer me up.  Pffft.”

“Um… what about Dru?” Buffy asked, hesitant to bring her up.  She didn’t know why, but somehow she didn’t want to make the vampire feel worse than he already was.  _It’s the wheelchair_ , she thought to herself.  _Automatic sympathy points._

Spike’s face fell, and he looked so forlorn she had to bite back an apology.  “She’s gone.”  Were those… tears?

“I’m sorry,” burst out before she could stop herself.

He glanced up sharply.  “Why, Slayer.  I didn’t know you cared.”

“I don’t,” she retorted, then winced at the lameness of her comeback.  This sympathy for the devil thing was really throwing her off her game.

One of Spike’s hands crept up to ghost over the burns on his face.  “No, don’t suppose you would.  You saved your honey, right?  S’all that matters to you.”  He peered around her again.  “S’pect old Angel’ll come lumbering through the door any moment now, finish off the job you didn’t start.”  He stared expectantly at the empty doorway.

“Angel’s out of town for the week,” Buffy said, surprising herself once again by telling him the truth, and even more surprised at her bitter tone.

“What?  The wanker didn’t want to snog his way into next year with his pretty little girl?  Christ, no wonder you’re still a virgin.  His dick _did_ fall off.”

“No it didn’t!  It works just…”  She shut up as Spike’s eyes began to gleam with mirth.  “It works better than yours, that’s for sure.”

Rolling his eyes, he said, “For the first time in a hundred and fifty years, at any rate.  Bet he’ll be thrilled to know he’s got the better pecker for once.”

The distant thump of music that had been underlying their conversation suddenly died down, and Buffy heard a voice ringing out in its place.  “Okay, listen up folks!  Our countdown is going to start in just a few, so be sure to grab a party hat and a complementary glass of non-alcoholic bubbly for the big moment, along with your preferred smooching partner!”  She’d turned to the door to hear better, but at the words _smooching partner_ , Buffy glanced back at Spike, surprised to see him watching her intently.

“So that’s my cue to hurry home, my Mom’s waiting for me…”

His eyes never left hers.  “Right.  Seeing as you’ve no one here to smooch.  Do us a favor then, help me outside, will you?  I can probably make it home on my own from there.”

“Cause you don’t have anyone here to smooch either.”

“Since you dusted Mort, no.”  He chuckled when her eyes widened in surprise.  “Not _him_ , lamb.  Pillock of a minion was supposed to bring me some pretty young thing, start the New Year off right.  Probably better this way.”  His hand ghosted over his ravaged face again.  “No bird wants to kiss a fella what looks like this anyhow.”

Buffy bit her lip, then slid behind Spike’s wheelchair.  _And I’m helping him why?_   She shook her head in disgust, but nevertheless took hold of the handles and began to push him into the hallway, towards the back exit.  “So… you just wanted somebody to kiss?  Not snack on?”

“Oh, I would have had a nice snack after, don’t you fret.  Once she was all comfy in my lap…”

Letting go of his wheelchair, she smacked the back of his head.  “Remind me why I’m helping you?” 

_Really.  Why?_

“You feel bad for crippling me?”

“Less and less.”

He twisted to look up at her.  “I’m very sorry, Slayer, for all the evil I’ve done, and I resolve to turn over a new leaf in the New Year.  Become a reformed vamp and all that.”

Buffy chose to ignore the mischief dancing in his eyes.  “I’m holding you to that.”  She shoved him through the back exit, far less gently than she could have, ignoring his yelp of pain, and maneuvered him around the trash and to the end of the alley.  “So, um…  Have a nice night?” she said as she stopped in front of him, shifting from foot to foot.

Inside, the chant of, “ _One hundred… ninety-nine… ninety-eight_ …” rang out.

Spike cocked his head, listening to the countdown.  “Slayer.  You won’t make it home in time for the ball drop.”

“I guess not.”

His eyes locked on her lips, then slid back up to meet hers.  He shifted uneasily.  “Maybe we could… wouldn’t be so terrible…”  He shook his head and looked away.  “Uh, never mind.  Have a good one.  Thanks for the help,” he said, waving his hand vaguely.

Buffy stepped a little closer to him.  He looked so lost and alone.  It tugged on her heartstrings, against her better judgment.  “Since neither of us has our preferred smooching partner…”

Spike’s head whipped back to face her.  “Yeah?” he asked quickly.  She made an uncertain gesture and he leaned forward, the streetlight illuminating his ruined face more fully.  “Wouldn’t mean a thing, right?” he said. 

“Right.  Because mortal enemies share a New Year’s smooch all the time.”

“It’d be a shame to ring in the New Year all alone… an’ seeing as we’re both here…”

“Right.  We could… be alone together… Would it hurt if I sat on your lap?  Just, you know, for a better angle…” 

_What am I doing what am I doing what am I doing?  This is more than pity…_

_Thirty-nine… thirty-eight…_

He settled back into his chair, letting his hands rest on the arms, and Buffy clambered onto his lap, careful not to hurt him.  “No biting,” she said, brandishing her stake.

“Be a good way to go,” he leered.

She placed her hands on either side of his face, her caress light.  “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“Don’t quite believe it either.  But hell, maybe it’ll be a new tradition.  Anytime we’re alone on New Year’s Eve, we’ll be alone together.”

“Like an evil Harry Met Sally?”

He chuckled.  “Stranger things have happened.”

“On the Hellmouth?  True.”

_Five… four… three…_

Buffy leaned in, surprised at how rapidly his chest was rising and falling.

_Two…_

His cool breath washed over her lips, flavored with smoke and whiskey.  She looked into his bright blue eyes as his arms wrapped lightly around her, just enough to draw her in without making her feel trapped.

_One…_

Buffy pressed her lips to Spike’s in a chaste kiss.  His own kiss was light and sweet, leaving her lips tingling.

_Happy New Year!_

She jerked away so fast she fell off his lap.  “Right.  Well.”  His chest was heaving in time with hers.  “I still hate you,” she blurted.  “Violently.  I violently hate you.”

“You too,” Spike agreed with a sneer.  “Hope something eats you on your way home.  Tears your throat out and bathes in your blood.”

“Okay.  Good.”  She feathered her fingertips over her lips.  “Here’s to not seeing you for the rest of the year,” Buffy said, then spun away, hurrying down the street.  “And this _never_ happened,” she yelled over her shoulder, her heart pounding in her ears.

She could just hear his reply as she turned the corner.  “Happy New Year to you too, Slayer.”

 


	2. (S3) 1998

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, reviews, comments, and kudos are appreciated!
> 
> I forgot to mention last time, the lovely and talented Peaceheather read through my first chapter for me, and gave me much needed feedback. Also, none of these characters belong to me, yadda yadda yadda. *Pouts.*
> 
> S3 turned out to be as easy to work around as S2 - and here I thought the later seasons would be easiest. This is set post 'Lover's Walk', and fit in right after Angel's mystical Christmas snow. At which point Buffy and Angel were still trying to be 'just friends', although that didn't last much longer.

 

Season Three - 1998

 

 

Buffy pulled up short, staring in him dismay.  “Oh come on, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

“S’a free country.  Have the right to be here if I want,” Spike countered, taking a drag off his cigarette and then crushing it under his boot.

“No.  You don’t.  I violently dislike you, remember?  And what about ‘you’ll leave town and I’ll never see you again’?  Ringing any bells?  That little promise you made me and already broke once?”

He shrugged.  “Evil.  What can I say.  ‘Sides, I was thinking of an earlier deal we’d made.”

“Which was…?”

Narrowing his eyes, Spike tipped his head, examining her, then sniffed nonchalantly.  “Got a date, you and I.”

“A date?” she repeated, confused.  “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Knew you’d be a bloody bitch about it.  Never mind, Slayer.”  He spun on his heel, his duster swirling about his ankles as he strode away, Buffy staring after him.

“O-kaaaay… That was strange, even for Spike.”  She shook her head and turned the other way, ready to finish her patrol so she could make a quick stop at the Bronze before heading home.  This year, she was determined to watch the ball drop with her Mom, seeing how she’d missed it last year due to…

Spike.

She stopped dead in her tracks.  “Oh.  Our evil Harry Met Sally date.” 

He wasn’t serious, was he?

“Yeah, that one,” the vampire rumbled in her ear.

Apparently he was.

“What about Dru?” she asked, spinning to face him.  “Thought you had a previous engagement with her?  Involving chains and torture?”

“Haven’t run into her yet,” he said, averting his eyes.  “She’d scarpered off by the time I made it back to Brazil.  Heard she’d come up this way… Been looking for her, and then it was getting on to the last day of the year…”

Buffy began walking again, Spike keeping step beside her.  “So you thought you’d meet up with me instead.”

“Didn’t have anything better to do.  All alone tonight.  You?”

“Angel…”

“Angel.  Thought you two were pretending you’re just friends?”

“I… ah… I dunno…” she admitted, refusing to look at him.  “ _You_ know we’re not.  And anyhow, he’s out of town.  Again.  Chanting with monks or something.”

Spike chuckled.  “Looks like the fates are on our sides, then.”

“Uh, presuming we _want_ this to happen.  Which I so don’t.  _We’re_ not friends either, Spike.  So unless you’re here for a major ass-kicking, you should go back to looking for Dru.”

“Well, sure.  I’m here to _kill_ you, not _kiss_ you.  As if.”

 “I’m not kissing you,” she insisted.  “Ever again.  This last year was the shittiest year of my life, and since it started out with your lips on mine, I’m not looking for a repeat.”

“Couldn’t agree more.”

Buffy darted a glance at him.  “You’re a very strange vampire, you know that?”

“’M a rebel, baby.”

Twirling her stake, she said, “Or something.  Look, I’m supposed to go meet the gang at the Bronze, then head home.  So you wanna fight now or later?”

“Later.  No point unless it’s at midnight, right?”

It felt like he was calling her out at high noon.  She shook her head at the absurdity of the situation, hoping Spike would be wasted enough by the time midnight rolled around that he would have forgotten all about her.  She wasn’t in the mood for an epic fight, not tonight.  “Okay.  Well, I’ll see you later.”

He hurried in front of her to cut her off.  “What, you don’t wanna…?”

She cocked an eyebrow.  “Hang out with you until midnight?  Really, no.  Besides, even if _I_ did, pretty sure Willow and Xander aren’t going to be up for hanging with the asshole that kidnapped them only a month ago, you know?”

“Right,” he nodded.  “I’ll see you at your Mum’s, then.”

Raising her stake threateningly, Buffy snapped, “You stay away from her!”

“Won’t hurt her.”

“Why?”

His brows drew together.  “Dunno.  Guess I should.  Being evil and all.”

“You know what?”  She jabbed her stake at him.  “I’m thinking we should get this over with now.”

“Hey now, thought we had a deal?”

“That was before you threatened my mother.  And you’re right, _you_ thought we had a deal.  I never said any such thing.”

Spike snapped his fist at her, tumbling her backwards.  “I’ll see you near midnight,” he said, his voice deep and threatening as he swaggered away.

Buffy clutched at her tender nose.  “Bastard!” she called after him, then climbed to her feet, hurrying home.  No way was she going to leave her Mom alone with Spike on the loose.

 

 

She’d stopped in at the Bronze first, just a quick stop to let her friends know why she was bailing on them tonight, but now she regretted it.  Because Spike was already at her house, sitting on the couch next to her mom, nursing a cup of tea.

“Mom!” Buffy sighed in exasperation.  “Didn’t we already learn not to invite the evil vampire in?”

Her mom blushed, sheepish.  “Oh honey, I know.   But… Spike’s been nothing but a gentleman.  And he _did_ say you were expecting him.”

“Yes, because he would never lie.”

“Oi!  I don’t lie!”  Buffy cocked an eyebrow and he shrugged.  “Well, not always.  And I didn’t lie this time – you knew I’d be by.”  Smirking, he added, “I’ll have you know I waited outside like a proper gentleman for your mum to let me in, even though my invite is still good.  Could’ve barged right in and I didn’t.”

“It’s true,” Joyce said.

Buffy sighed.  “My apologies.  And here I thought you were evil.  Time to go now, thanks for stopping by.”  She tapped her foot impatiently when he didn’t move.

“I’m sorry, Spike,” Joyce said to the vampire.  “I thought maybe you and Buffy had another truce.  It was a lovely chat.”

“Mom!”

Joyce wrung her hands.  “I’m sorry, Buffy, but he _was_ very polite – I can’t help but be polite back.  Willow can do a disinvite, right?  And I won’t invite him in again, I promise.”

“We won’t need a disinvite,” Buffy ground out, “just a dustbuster.”

Spike leapt up.  “Tsk, such manners, Slayer.  Is that any way to treat a guest?”

“You’re a pest, not a guest.”

“I didn’t want to do this in front of your mother, but you leave me no choice,” Spike growled, lunging for her.

“Mom, go!” Buffy yelled, ducking, sending Spike crashing into the wall.

Joyce hesitated.  “Do you need help?”

“Get out of here!  Get to Giles’!  I can’t focus if I’m worried about you.”  Her mom nodded and ran for the door.

Spike rushed her again.  “Just you and me, now, Slayer.”

“Perfect.  Hey!  Watch the Christmas tree!”

“Aww, did I ruin your pretties?”

Buffy slammed him to the ground.  “No, you ruined my Mom’s.  Jerk.”  Glaring at him, she motioned to the door.  “Outside.  Now.”

The vampire scratched at his chest, smirking as he climbed back to his feet, and swiped at the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.  “Dunno.  Like smashing up your things, seeing you get all hot and bothered over it.”

“Have I mentioned lately that I hate you?”

“You sure do know how to sweet talk a bloke.”  He gestured towards the door.  “Since your mum’s been a right lady, I’ll take this outside for her sake.  After you, love.”

Narrowing her eyes, Buffy replied.  “You first.”

He shook his head.  “You first.  Or the tree gets it.”

“Fine.”  She headed towards the door, turning back to warn him not to try to pull anything behind her back, only to see his fist coming at her.  And then nothing.

 

 

Buffy swam up through the darkness, coming fully alert when something slapped her face.  Her eyes popped open, looking right into Spike’s sapphire ones.  He leered, waggling his eyebrows, and she made to hit him.  Only to find her arms tied behind her back.  “Hey!” she protested, twisting her head to see he’d used a string of Christmas lights to bind her.  “I’m not dead?”

“Disappointed?”

She shook her head.  “No.  Just surprised.  But it’s the biggest mistake you’ll ever make.”

He chuckled, his eyes wide with glee as his tongue curled behind his teeth.  “Big talk from the Slayer that’s trussed up tighter than a Christmas goose on Mum’s couch.  No fun draining you if you’re not awake for it.”  Licking his lips, he added.  “’Sides, I have a better idea.”

She struggled harder.  “Well, this ought to be good.”

“Angelus would approve.”

“Angel,” Buffy replied automatically.

Spike gave her an evil grin.  “No, I mean _Angelus_ , Slayer.  I ran with that git for years.  Learned a fair number of tricks from him.”  He took a lock of her hair, twirled it about his finger.  “Me, I normally prefer a good brawl, a quick death.  But sometimes…”  He leaned in, trailing his nose up the column of her neck as she gave in to her fear.  “Sometimes, there are other pleasures to be had.”

“You touch me and I’ll make you wish you hadn’t.”  Buffy was proud of how even her voice was.

Ignoring her threats, Spike spun to the television, turning the volume up so that Buffy could hear the countdown to next year.

_Fifty… forty-nine… forty-eight…_

“Tempting though the offer is, I have something else in mind.  You see, I _could_ kill you.  I know it, and more importantly, _you_ know it.”

“You cheated!” she interrupted.

“All’s fair in love and war, baby.  I’m evil, what did you expect?  Any which way you look at it, I win, you lose.  So here you are, at my mercy, and this is what I’m thinking.  I’m thinking it’s going to eat at you that I bested you, then let you live.  Think of it as… repayment for last year.  When you helped me out instead of ending me.”

“I won’t be so generous next time.”

He laughed.  “Neither will I.  We’ll be even then, right?”

“You have a strange sense of honor, Spike.”

“Vampire, love.  Goes with the territory.  Don’t get me wrong, this isn’t me going soft on you.  As I was saying – I don’t need to kill you.  I’m going to do you one better.”

Buffy hadn’t stopped struggling, still worried that he was planning to… well, she didn’t even want to consider what he might be planning.  “Untie me now, and maybe I won’t kill you painfully.”

“Such promises,” he leered.

_Ten… nine… eight…_

He knelt in front of her and tangled his hands in her hair, eyes blazing with a heat she didn’t want to think about.  “Shhh, Buffy.  I won’t hurt you.  Not tonight.”  Even though his words shouldn’t have had a calming effect on her, they did.  She stilled, gazing into his eyes, perplexed.

_One…_

Leaning in, Spike kissed her, just as gently as he had the year before, his soft lips capturing hers in a kiss that had her responding despite herself.

_Happy New Year!_

The crowd on the television went wild.  Buffy’s heartbeat drowned them out.

“What the hell?” she asked when he pulled away, her voice shaky.

Spike cupped her cheek.  “Here’s hoping your next year is even worse than the last.”  She gaped at him as he stood and swaggered to the door.  Holding the door open, he turned to face her.  “So, we on for next year?  ‘Less I kill you good and proper before then?” 

She couldn’t think of a retort, only continued to gape at him.  He cocked his head, and when she failed to respond, he shrugged and left.  As the door slammed shut, Buffy finally found her voice.

“It was just a dream,” she muttered.  “Just a bad dream.”

 


	3. (S4) 1999

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buffy timelines are all wonky, but I'm setting this one between 'Doomed' and 'A New Man', despite the air dates, since 'Doomed' follows right on the heels of 'Hush' - and 'Hush' is definitely still fall semester. Plus, this way, it makes more sense when Spike complains that the Slayer didn't come to see him off when he moves out of Xander's basement. She really has no reason to in canon, not unless they'd recently shared some kind of off-screen moment. :)

 

Season Four – 1999

 

 

Spike sat at the bar, nursing his beer.  His unlife had taken a turn for the better in the last few days, ever since he’d realized demons made for government-approved punching bags, but he was still good and bollixed.

_Neutered_.  And living in that Harris wanker’s basement.  Having to purchase quarter from the Slayer and her little pals.  It just wasn’t right.  Not for the Slayer of Slayers, not for the vampire that had terrorized the world for over a century.

And speaking of the Slayer bitch…  In she walked, strolling right past him without even noticing him, her ragtag band of rejects trailing behind.  Spike caught a whiff of her scent and wanted to work up a good killing rage, but instead his traitorous dick hardened.  It had been doing that too often of late.  Ever since the witch’s bloody spell, the one that had had the Slayer squirming in his lap, kissing him far more passionately than their previous never-to-be-spoken-of kisses.

He drained his beer, wanting to get out of there before she saw him.  Spike did not want to deal with her, not tonight.  _Should have killed her last year, when she was all trussed up and in my grasp._   But no, he’d had to be a first class ponce, a right git, and let her off with no more than a kiss. A simple kiss that had haunted his dreams – until the more substantial ones of a month ago had taken its place.

Spike moved away from the bar and towards the door, careful of the crowd, not wanting to set off his chip despite his hurry to evade the Slayer.

No such luck.

“Spike.”

“Slayer,” he acknowledged, turning to face her.

“Where you off to?”

He shrugged.  “Around.  Thought I might see what’s happening down at Willy’s.”

“You sure it’s safe for you to wander about on your own?”  His forehead creased.  Was she actually worried about him?  She glanced at her friends, who were putting on the dopey party hats he’d eschewed, then back at him with a wicked smile.

Ah.  No, the Slayer wasn’t worried about him, not one whit.  She wanted payback for last year.  And with this chip in his noggin, she’d have no trouble extracting it from him.

Bollocks.

 “Why don’t you stick around, Spike?”

“Hang with the assholes that can’t even fake a little terror in my presence?” he sneered.  “Thanks, but no.”

Her lower lip crept out in a mockery of a pout, and all other thought fled from his brain.  He still remembered what if felt like to nibble on that soft flesh, to lave it with his tongue.  “But Spikey, it’s almost midnight, and we have a standing date, don’t we?”  The bitch’s eyes were cold and contemptuous despite her pleading tone.

“You all alone again, then, Slayer?  Still can’t keep a boy around to snog?  What happened to that Riley tosser you’ve been on about, he get a taste of the goodies and decide you weren’t worth a second go either?  That’s becoming a real-”

She cut him off with a resounding slap to the face.  “I _loathe_ you,” she spat.  “And for your information, my boyfriend went home to visit his family for the holidays, but he’ll be back tomorrow.  So looks like you’re the only one who can’t hang on to a girlfriend – not even _Harmony_.  And how pathetic is that?”

Damn.  He’d been feeling like his old bad self for a moment, relishing the hurt on her face and the tears in her eyes, and somehow she’d turned it around and cut him down to size within seconds.  The chit was good.

“Touché.”  Spike turned to leave, but she stopped him with her hand.  He stared at her small hand on his arm, perplexed.  “You serious, Slayer?  You really want to keep up our tradition?”

Buffy shrugged.  “Way I see it, my luck’s been crap, but you’ve had a worse year than me.  Maybe my jinx is worse than yours.”

Leaning in, Spike’s voice dropped an octave.  “And maybe you just want to keep those other promises we made.  The little nasties we whispered in each other’s ears under Red’s spell.”  She shivered, shocked eyes flicking up to his before dropping to the ground, her cheeks flaming.  “Oh-ho.  No forgetting spell after all.”

With a visible effort, she brought herself under control.  “Yeah, well.  Would _you_ want Willow mucking about in your brain?”

“Even less than I want the bleeding Initiative in there,” he assured her, and she snorted.

Buffy looked back at her friends, who were dancing now, and Spike wondered what was going on in that noggin of hers.  “Do you think we’re cursed or something?  Doomed to each other’s company?” she asked.

“Well, no.  All it takes is for you to join your mates and me to go my merry way, and our little tradition is broken.”

“Right.  Oooh, or I could kill you.  That would end it too.”

“Who says you’ll be killing me?  I could kill you.”

She rolled her eyes and smacked him on the head.  “The pain says.  Besides,” she continued when he made to protest.  “You had your chance last year, you stupid cheater, and you blew it.  You wouldn’t be able to kill me now even if you lost your leash.”

How’d she figure that?  Did she think he’d gone soft on her?  “Oi-”

“Give it up.  I beat you, fair and square, even with the Gem of Amarra.  I’m better than you.”

“Oh, hell no.  That was just a fluke.  I get this chip out, I’ll show you.”

“Uh huh.  You wanna go patrol?” 

No, he didn’t want to patrol with her, not when she’d dismissed him so casually, without even a frisson of fear, not when he should be tearing her throat out, or at the very least telling her to sod off and-

“Yeah, all right.”

_Bloody hell._

He followed her as she made her way to the little witch, doing his best not to look surprised when the Slayer outright lied to the redhead.

“Spike says he saw a demon, some big stinky thing, over by the mall.  I’m going to go check it out.”

“Need any help?” Willow asked.

Shaking his head, Spike said smoothly, “Just a Fyarl, all brawn, no brains.  The two of us will have no problem with it.”

“Cool,” Willow replied, not even questioning him, and he had to repress the urge to snort.  Trusting idiots.  How had this lot survived Sunnyhell so long?

Buffy waved to the boy and his bird, then pivoted and hurried away before the couple could engage her, Spike trailing behind like a faithful dog.  He soothed his pride by imagining all the ways he would kill her once he got the chip out, ignoring the way her hair bounced with every step.  He wasn’t soft, damn it.

They wandered through the cemetery a while, not speaking, until she began to shiver.  “You’re not quite dressed for slaying,” Spike remarked as he lit a fag.  _Not going to give her my coat.  No bloody way.  Not even considering it._

“Guess not.”  She kicked at the ground.  “We could go to my place.  Watch the ball drop?”

Spike tipped his head, thinking.  “Yeah, why not.  Nothing else to do, other than hang out in your boy’s basement.  Nothing going on out here.”

“This doesn’t mean I like you or anything.”

He was not thinking she looked adorable.  No, he was thinking that her cold-nipped nose and cheeks were only attractive because they reminded him of the blood pounding through her veins, the blood he would be bathing in any day now.  He was most definitely not noticing how glossy her hair looked under the moonlight, or the shine in her eyes.  And if you suggested to him that he was looking forward to another kiss, he’d tear your throat out, chip or no.

“’Course not.  We have a long-standing tradition of seething hatred, you and I.  No amount of snogging will ever change that.”

She had that deer-in-the-headlights look again.  “Who said anything about kissing?” she squeaked.

“Just… you know.  Red’s spell.  That’s all.” 

Shoulders relaxing, Buffy nodded.  “Oh.  Right.  That’s all.”  They walked in silence until they entered the darkened house,, shooting each other tiny glances the entire way.   Spike shrugged off his duster, laying it over the banister as Buffy walked over to the telly and snapped it on, fiddling until she found the countdown.

“I’d offer you something to drink, but… no blood.  Or booze.  And I don’t really know how to make tea, so…”  She stood there, shifting from foot to foot, looking everywhere but at him.

“S’all right, pet.  No need.”  Spike perched himself on the edge of the couch, back erect, knees drawn together.  And felt like a right wanker.  With a sneer, he sprawled out, legs splayed, hands resting in a way guaranteed to draw her gaze.  “Looks like we got here just in time,” he said with a nod at the telly.

_Sixty… fifty-nine… fifty-eight…_

“Guess so.”  Buffy stared at the screen, and Spike could see her mind going a mile a minute.  He held his breath as she turned back to him.  “You know, you’re not such a bad kisser… and I can’t believe I just said that.  Strike it from your memory.”

“Duly struck.”

“I mean, you’re evil and disgusting, and I don’t want to kiss you at all.  I have a boyfriend, and he’s nice and normal, and not dead, which is _so_ a plus, never mind not being evil.”

Spike wasn’t listening to her words anymore; instead, he was watching the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the blush staining her cheeks.  He rose and closed the space between them, noting with satisfaction how her heart sped up and she shivered.  With fear.  And something more.

_Ten… nine… eight…_

“What happens here, Slayer…”

“Doesn’t mean a thing,” she finished.

_Two…_

Buffy stepped forward, erasing the inches between them, her hands burying into his hair and tugging him downwards to her mouth, thumbs tracing his cheekbones.

_One…_

He let his hands rest on her waist as they kissed, and though it was nowhere near as passionate as the kisses they’d shared while ensorcelled, Spike knew he’d be reliving this one for the foreseeable future.

_Doesn’t mean anything.  So I want to shag her.  Nothing wrong with that.  Fuck her and kill her, just like how many other women in the past.  Means nothing, Dru was wrong,_ he told himself as his tongue traced her lower lip.

  _Happy New Year!_

When she pulled away, her swollen lips beckoned him, and he had to refrain from lunging forward and recapturing them.  “So,” she said, stepping back, breathless.  “Whose year is going to suck more, do you think?”

In all honesty, Spike figured it would be his, but that wasn’t how the game was played, now was it?

“Well, yours, obviously.”  He ran a hand through his hair and added, “I’m off.  Evil to plot, your painful death to dream of.”

Buffy followed him to the door, thrusting his duster in his face.  “Business as usual.  And Spike?  You ever mention this to anyone…”

Looking down at her, he smirked, “Mention what, sweets?”

“You disgust me,” she called after him as he swaggered down the sidewalk. 

He didn’t look back.

 


	4. (S5) 2000

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one turned out to be a bit harder to place in the timeline. Originally, I wrote it to come after 'Triangle' (when Anya and Willow release the troll), because I figured it would be easier to put Spike and Buffy together after they've had what appears to be their first post-Riley-leaving encounter (with the troll in the Bronze). But the script made it clear classes had already started up again, so I had to fit this before, since I'm determined to try to keep everything reasonably within canon. I rewrote it a bit... and hopefully Spike worrying about the Slayer blaming him for Riley leaving, even after this encounter, still works. If not... *shrugs*. Suspension of disbelief is your friend and mine.

 

Season Five - 2000

 

 

Spike paced the downstairs of his crypt, smoking furiously, doing his best to ignore Harmony’s nattering.  True, he wasn’t technically alone tonight, but the Slayer was.  Wasn’t _his_ fault that she was, but she might see it that way. 

Maybe.  You never could tell with her.

Tonight was – their night.  In a manner of speaking.  And he didn’t know if he should go to her, or hope she came to him.  Hence the pacing.  Being in love with the bitch didn’t make dealing with her any easier.  No, it made it harder.  Because now, he _cared_.  Now, he was afraid of bollixing it up.

“Spikey,” Harmony whined.  “Aren’t we going out tonight?  You said we’d go out.”

If he’d promised any such thing, it had been in a moment of inattention, to shut her up.  Spike’s only plans were to spend tonight with the Slayer.  Or barring that, alone.  “Not feeling well, Harm.  Why don’t you pretty yourself up and head on out.  Wouldn’t want you to waste the night on my account.”

“My poor Blondie-bear.  I’ll take care of you, Booboo.”

Spike’s jaw twitched.  If she didn’t sod off, he’d stake her, certain sure.  And then he’d have to find someone else to shag, seeing as the Slayer wasn’t likely to oblige anytime soon. 

He’d almost decided to go out looking for Buffy when – _bang, bang, bang_.

“Sounds like the Slayer’s here for you, ducks.”  He grinned.  “Tell you what, you scarper, I’ll keep her off your scent.  Keep her occupied.  All right?”

“Ohhh,” Harmony cooed.  “You’re just such a sweetie.”

“Yeah.  I’m a right hero.  Run along, there’s a good girl, Harm.”

Spike hurried up the ladder, covering the hole just as the door burst open.  He opened his mouth to speak, and Buffy cut him off.

“Just – don’t talk, Spike.”  He made to retort, but she turned those glistening green eyes on him.  “Please?”  Spike deflated.  What else could he do, when she looked so lost?  She’d chosen to come to him; there was no way in hell he’d make things worse for her.  Truth be told, if he opened his mouth, that was likely all that would happen.

 “Fair enough.”  He turned to the telly to snap it on, flicking through the channels until he found the station with the New Year’s Eve celebration.  He motioned to the ratty old armchair, an unspoken invitation for the Slayer to make herself comfortable.  Buffy bit her lip, then sat stiffly, tension visible in the lines of her frame.

Spike longed to touch her.  To ease the pain and hurt from her small body.  Instead, he walked to his fridge, where he’d stocked sodas and other beverages earlier in the day.  Just in case.  He pulled out a diet Coke, deliberated, then put it back and grabbed the champagne instead.  The girl wasn’t in a celebrating mood, but she needed something to help her relax.  Her eyes followed him as he popped the cork, pouring a liberal amount into his one clean glass.  Without a word, he held the drink out to her, bubbles streaming upwards.

Buffy favored him with a small, sad smile, then reached for the glass, her fingers brushing his.  “Thanks.”  She turned back to the telly, giving it her full attention as she took a tiny sip, nose wrinkling at the taste.

Spike watched her, his lips twitching at how bloody adorable she looked when she took a second sip, face scrunching in disgust once more.  Still not saying a word, he settled himself on the ground near her feet, not touching her, but close enough to lean into her legs if he wanted to.  He could feel the heat emanating from her, washing over him, and he sighed in pleasure.

When she’d finished the glass, she held it out to him for a refill.  He did, then took a swig off the bottle himself.

“Fizzes in my nose,” she remarked.  “It grows on you after a bit, though.”  By the way she managed to take a drink without making a face this time, he imagined it did.  Her cheeks were rosy now, her eyes glassy in a different way, and he thought it might be safe to speak.

“’M sorry, love.  ‘Bout Riley-”

“I don’t – just… I don’t want to talk about it, okay?  Not tonight.  God, not tonight.  Don’t remind me about – that place.”

Another time, then.  He still wanted to apologize, and wasn’t that a kick in the pants?  Him apologizing to the Slayer?  But not tonight, like the girl said.  He wasn’t sure what to say anyhow.

“No Harmony?”

He shrugged, then realized she still wasn’t looking at him.  “Nah.  We’re not really a thing, just…”  Wasn’t a lie, not really.  He’d throw the bint over the minute something better came along. 

“She’s just convenient for you.  Got it.”  The way Buffy said it, it sounded like he’d disappointed her.

“Love?”

She didn’t elaborate.  Instead, she sighed, “Maybe Xander was right.  Who knows?  Maybe that’s all he was to me too.  But – it didn’t give him… He was still all wrong about me.”  Her words didn’t make a lick of sense to him.  Spike waited, hoping she’d continue on her own, and she obliged.  “I am _not_ attracted to vamps.  Not one little bit.  Angel – I fell for him long before I knew he was undead creature of the night.  And Dracula… he had that whole thrall thing.  Plus, you know, _Dracula_.  So he doesn’t count either. 

“It wasn’t a fair thing to say,” she sulked, holding out her empty glass.  “This is good.  You got any more?” 

Spike refilled it for her while he pondered what she’d said.  He’d mostly been yanking the git’s chain when he’d claimed Buffy preferred her men bumpy in the forehead region – he didn’t really believe Buffy had a thing for vamps, hope though he did that she might someday have a thing for him – but the berk must have taken his words to heart.

He drained what was left of the bottle, watching as Buffy did the same to her glass, then got up to fetch something with a bit more of a kick to it.  He’d just located his Jack when she began to speak again, the bottle nearly slipping through his fingers at her words.

“Now, if he’d mentioned _you_ that might have been a bit different.  I mean, come on, how many times have I not killed you when I should have?  Or – he was all worried I wouldn’t be interested in him after he lost his superpowers, and who did I say I’d date if I wanted a guy with superpowers?  You.  But no, he didn’t say a word about William the Bloody.  Even with that whole faux-engagement thing we had going on last year.”

Spike sunk down next to Buffy, doing his best not to react to what she’d admitted no matter how it made his heart try to thump in his chest. He reached for her glass and said carefully, “Know a thing or two about losing superpowers, pet.  I imagine it spun him right round ‘till he couldn’t think straight anymore.  Obviously he’s toddled half-way ‘round the bend.  No way he would have walked away from you otherwise.” 

He didn’t add his suspicion that Riley hadn’t mentioned him precisely because the wanker was afraid that Spike had made Buffy’s short list of vampires she found attractive.  The ex wouldn’t have wanted to admit the possibility by putting words to his fears, especially when he knew how Spike felt about his girl.

“Why aren’t you rubbing it in my face?  That Riley left?”

“Know how it feels to be kicked to the curb for something out of your control.  Wouldn’t wish that on even my best enemy.  Not tonight, at least.”

She nodded sagely, then took a sip of the whiskey and choked.  “Bleargh.  Ew.”

_Bloody adorable_.

“I should stake you, you know.”  She’d produced a stake from out of nowhere and he scuttled away in surprise, inching back when he realized how unsteady her hand was.  “I don’t like you.  I don’t trust you.  You’re _evil_ and deserve to die.  And yet, I don’t do it.  Why?”

Spike removed the stake from her limp hand, tossing it into the corner of the crypt.  “Because you’d miss our New Year’s Eve dates?”

“Not likely.  I think it’s because I feel sorry for you,” she said primly.  “You’re helpless, just like when you were in the wheelchair.” 

Maybe Buffy was drunk, and maybe he felt a touch responsible for how things had gone with the soldier-boy, but Spike wasn’t going to be _pitied_ , no sodding way.  There was no call for her to be a mean drunk, not when he was doing his level best to be a good companion against all his instincts.  He opened his mouth to argue with her, but she cut him off. 

“It has absolutely nothing to do with those lusty dreams of you, you know.”

Oh.

_Oh_.

Well that changed things. 

Spike figured it was a good thing she wasn’t looking at him, because if he looked as gobsmacked as he felt, he looked bloody ridiculous right about now.  He rearranged his face into a leer, knelt before her.  “Wanna tell me all about the little nasties you’ve been dreaming of doing with Big Bad?”

Buffy laughed, then slurred, “No way, vampire, you’d use it against me if you ever knew about those dreams. I’m never going to tell you about them.” 

He snickered.  The chit didn’t realize it was too late for that. 

“Hey!”  She poked him in the shoulder.  “The ball’s about to drop.  Turn it up.”

He obliged, then turned back to face her, the countdown echoing in his ears.

_Twenty… nineteen… eighteen…_

“You’re a really good kisser, you know that?”

Spike couldn’t help but smile.  She was slumped sideways in his chair, one leg swinging over the arm, her hair completely mussed, a look of intense concentration on her face.  “So I’ve been told, love.”

“But not by me.  No way, Jose.  I would never tell you that, because you’re bad and evil and I don’t like you even a little bit.”

“No worries, Slayer.”

“So, you gonna kiss me or what?”

_Five… four… three…_

“Yeah.  Gonna kiss you good.”  Spike leaned in, his lips brushing hers. 

_Happy New Year!_

Buffy moaned, her hands tangling in his hair, mouth devouring his.  Spike’s cock stood at full attention as he slipped his hands under her shirt, thumbs caressing the underside of her breasts while she mewled into his mouth, and he wondered how far he could take it.  If she’d let him take it all the way.  He stood, lifting her with him, wrapping his body around hers.

And stopped.  Pressed his forehead to hers, groaned in frustration.

He could take what he wanted.  Spike was sure of it.  But if he did… best case scenario, she’d stake him in the morning, when she came to her senses.  Worst, she’d run him out of town, never talk to him again.  Buffy whimpered, wriggling against him, and he almost said to hell with it, gave in to his desire.  It would be worth it, to die, if he got to shag her first.

Somehow, he held himself back.

“Happy New Year, Buffy.”

Her head lolled on his shoulder.  “You too, Spike.”

“I’m going to walk you home now, all right?  You’re in no condition to go traipsing about on your own.”

Buffy nodded, and he helped her with her coat, then wrapped his arm around her waist, guiding her outside, relishing the feel of her warmth pressed against him.  She didn’t speak until they reached her street.

“You got me drunk.”

“Only a little.  ‘Sides, you’re a cheap drunk.  Not my fault it went straight to your head.”

“It’s because you’re evil.  You’re evil, and you got me drunk, and now you’re walking me home.”

Spike chuckled.  “You sussed out my nefarious plan, Slayer.”

“And you talk funny,” she grumbled.

When they reached her porch, she put her hands on his chest.  “Whatever I said tonight doesn’t count, you know.  Because you tricked me into saying it.”

“Well, I am evil.  As you’ve mentioned.  Repeatedly.”

“That’s right.”  She nodded, listing sideways, and he straightened her out.

“I won’t hold you to anything you said, Buffy.  Mum’s the word.”

A hand flew to her mouth.  “Mum?  My mom?  Is she here?  She can’t see me like this!”

Spike opened the door for her.  “She’s safe and sound in her bed, Buffy.  You, uh, want me to help you up to yours?  Tuck you in?”  He couldn’t help but leer as he said it.

“No.  Pig.”  She shook her head.  “I’d stake you if you touched me.”

“And that’s my cue to leave.”

Buffy grabbed on to his shirt.  “Spike?”

His heart tried to thump again.  “Yeah?”

“I hope you have a good year.  In a non-killing sort of way, I mean.  I don’t want to be your jinx this year.”

Brow furrowed, he asked, “What brought this on?”

“Our lives have sucked too much lately.  I can’t take anymore.”

Spike pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear.  “Think it’s the lot of the Slayer, love.  Things aren’t meant to be easy for you.  And yet you handle it all with grace and strength.”

She glowered at him.  “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?  Why?”

“Just… don’t.  I don’t want to like you.  Not even a little bit.”

He smiled.  “No worries.  We’ll be back to our usual antipathy tomorrow.  Hurt each other good and proper.”

Buffy squinted at him, trying to suss out if he was teasing her.  Giving up, she stumbled into the house, then twisted back to him.  “Thanks for getting me home, Spike.  Sometimes, I don’t hate you so much.”  She blanched.  “And I’m going to blame that on the booze.  Because I so obviously didn’t mean it.” 

She turned away, closing the door behind her.  Spike stared at it for a long, long time.

 


	5. (S6) 2001

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even though writing angst is my default mode... even though I love a good well-written, angsty S6 story... even though I've watched S6 the most... I don't actually like writing canon S6. I've only ever tried it once before... and I still haven't posted that piece. *Shudders*
> 
> All this to say... I kinda had to go with the angst this chapter. Set after 'Gone'. Also, yes, there will be a S8! I'm in the middle of writing it... we'll see where it goes. :) And a Happy 2013 to all!

Season Six – 2001

 

 

“Well, there you are.”

Buffy sighed.  “You found me.”

 “Thought you might come to me.  Tonight of all nights.”  Pain and anger flashed in his eyes, and she looked away.

She’d wanted to.  God, how she’d wanted to.  But it was different this year.  This year, it meant something, if she went to him.  He would read some kind of feeling into it; see it as her acceptance of him, of them.  And that was a big no in the world of Buffy.  Rather than go to him, she’d hidden away at Willy’s. 

She was smart enough to know that she could have made it impossible for the vampire to find her... and yet she hadn’t.  There was a hidden message there, but she wasn’t going to think about it.  Instead, she nodded at the bench opposite the table, waiting for him to sit, then leaned across so nobody else could hear her.  “You want to know the reason I didn’t go looking for you?” 

_The one I’ll tell you, at any rate._

He leaned forward too, head cocked. 

“This?”  Buffy motioned between them with one hand.  “Feels like we’re cheating on each other.  With ourselves.”  Spike’s eyebrows drew together in confusion.  “We’re only supposed to be each other’s date when there’s nobody else,” she explained.  “But if I wasn’t _here_ with you, I’d be… _with_ you.”  She let her statement stand, hoping he’d get the implications.  When he drew back, face thoughtful, she knew understood.

“So see, it’s just all kinds of fucked up.  Neither of us is really alone this year.”  She frowned.  “And don’t take that as any kind of tacit approval of our… whatever we have.  Because we don’t have anything.  I am _not_ in a relationship with you.  Of any kind.”

Spike frowned too.  “You sure know how to make a bloke feel wanted, Slayer.”  He shook his head in disgust.  “And yet, I still seek out your company.  Maybe I’ll stop hating myself so much, one of these days.”

Saluting him with her glass, Buffy said, “Welcome to my world.”  He got up to leave, eyes flashing dangerously, and she panicked.  “Please.  I… don’t go.  I’ll play nice.  For tonight.”

He hesitated, then slid back into the booth, slouching sullenly.  “For tonight, then.”

“So…”  Buffy cast about for a topic.  “Who wins the award this year for worst year?”

Spike didn’t even stop to consider his answer.  “That would be me.”

“How d’you figure?” she scoffed.  “Let’s add up my points.  First, Riley, which ok, technically last year, but kinda ruined at least the whole month of January.  My mother died, when she was supposed to be getting better.  _You_ chained me up, sicced your loony ex on me, and made a sex robot that wore my face.  My sister was hunted by a Hellgod, and almost killed, which lead to an almost apocalypse.  I got ripped out of Heaven to find I have no money, no job, a mountain of debt and no skills other than killing evil creatures – which doesn’t pay squat, by the way – and instead of helping, my father figure abandons me to it.  I can hardly stand my oh-so-unasked for life, made worse by the fact that the only way I _can_ tolerate it is to spend most of my time with an evil creature I don’t even like.” 

Buffy paused for a breath, took a sip of her drink.  “And let’s not forget the icing on the cake.  Oh yeah, I died.  Unpleasantly, I might add, in case you were wondering.”

Spike laughed, but it was a hollow, bitter sound.  “And that would be why my year was worse.   Because you died.”  His expression was so intense, his eyes filled with so much pain and sorrow and regret that Buffy couldn’t look away. 

“Don’t.  Just… don’t do that.  Don’t say things like that.”

“And why not?  S’true.  A hundred and fifty odd years on this planet, and those five months were the worst of them all.  Hell,” he said.  “Wouldn’t even be here to have this conversation, if not for kid Sis.  She’s the only thing what kept me going.”

Why did he have to look at her that way?  With those eyes that were far too human for a soulless creature.  “You don’t have real feelings, Spike.”

He made a noise of disbelief.  “So much for playing nice.”

“Well, you don’t.  What are you?  Not a person.  _William_ is dead.  And long gone.  You’re just… a parasite.  Reanimating his body.  There’s nothing real about you.”  She rose to leave.  “And I can’t lo-”  She snapped her mouth shut.  “I can’t _like_ a parasite.”

Buffy fled the bar, hoping that maybe she’d managed to drive Spike off for good this time.  Maybe he’d leave her alone, stop making her feel things she didn’t want to. 

Halfway across town, she heard the heavy tread of his boots behind her.

She sighed.  This was Spike.  He would _never_ leave her alone.  The one man she _didn’t_ want wouldn’t run out on her, no matter how she tried to hurt him. 

 _Not man_ , she reminded herself.  _Soulless, bloodsucking parasite_.

His hand fell on her shoulder, and he spun her far more gently than she’d expected.  She let her fist fly anyways, but he knew her too well, catching it with his hand, then wrapping his arms around her.

“Stop,” she protested, even as she slumped into him.

“Never.”  Spike took her by the hand, leading her through town, to his crypt.  Buffy followed without argument.  She’d used up all her anger for the night, and all that was left was the emptiness only he seemed to fill.

The moment he shut the door, she pressed herself to him, desperate for his passion, his fire, his rage.  “Make me forget, Spike.  Please.”

He ran his hands through her shorn hair, shook his head.  “Not tonight, Buffy.  This isn’t who we are, tonight.”

“Why?”

He didn’t answer, only pressed a kiss to her forehead, then turned to the television, finding their usual program.  Satisfied, he flopped back into his tatty old armchair, pulling her onto his lap as he kicked off his boots.  Once she was comfortable in his arms, he said in a rough voice, “Didn’t think I’d ever get another chance to do this.  Count down to the New Year with you.  Think that’s what hurt the most, when you were gone, knowing this year I’d really be all alone.  That I wouldn’t have this one kiss to get me through the next year.” 

Her heart caught in her throat.  Buffy worked so hard to remember that Spike was nothing but a soulless demon, and then he would do things, say things – make her feel things – that no one else could.  And she would remember why she turned to him over and over, even when she hated herself for it.

She tried to shrug off his admission.  “Well, I’d say you’ve had plenty of kisses to get you through next year.  No reason to worry about it now.”

“And yet…”  Spike laced his fingers through hers.  “Something special about New Year’s Eve, love.  Because this one night a year, we aren’t enemies.  And you don’t hate me.  No matter how much you protest otherwise,” he said with a wry smile.

“I seem to remember a whole lotta hate spewing out of your mouth too, Spikey.”

“Didn’t mean it.  Not really.  Not anymore than you did.”  He nuzzled her hair, breathing deeply.  “Even when I thought I hated you, I treasured these kisses.  Dreamt of them all year long.”

Okay, no fair, she was officially gooey inside.  Buffy didn’t want to be.  She wanted to hate him, to hurt him.  To stop the warm-and-fuzzy-making words pouring out of his mouth.

But he was right.  That wasn’t who they were tonight. 

Why buck tradition? 

She answered him, low and urgent and just a little breathless with fear.  “I dreamt of them too.  If you pressed me hard enough, I might even tell you how I always looked forward to New Year’s Eve, just so I could kiss you again.”

God, she loved it when he looked at her like that.  Like she’d made his entire life worth living.  Buffy could admit it, just for this moment, even if she’d be firmly denying any such thought in only a few hours time.

“You know the drill, though,” she added.  “Anything I say to you tonight doesn’t count.  Not out in the real world.  You don’t ever get to bring it up.”

Spike looked like he wanted to retort, say something cutting and rude, but he shut his eyes, jaw ticking, chest heaving, until he was in control once more.  “’Course not.  Haven’t broken the rules yet.”  He opened his eyes again, and they were soft and pleading.  “So you can say anything you want.  Anything at all.”

Her eyes welled up.  “Spike…”

“Need to hear it.  Just once, Buffy.  Whatever’s in your heart, that you’re too afraid to say.”

Oh no.  No way.  She was already way too vulnerable to this soulless creature.  “Turn it up,” she whispered instead.  “The countdown’s started.”

He did, twisting under her to reach the knob, then resettling her on his lap, his eyes holding hers.

_Twenty… nineteen… eighteen…_

Neither of them spoke.  Buffy’s breathing accelerated as he leaned into her, her lips tingling in anticipation.

_Five… four… three…_

His kiss was just as soft, just as sweet as it had ever been.  Buffy fought the urge to tangle her tongue with his, to open her thighs to hardness beneath her, to give into the raging need his touch aroused in her. 

Tonight, she wasn’t that person.

_Happy New Year!_

Heart pounding in her ears, Buffy pulled away, her eyes searching the blue ones in front of her.  She took a deep breath, then leaned in to whisper in his ear. 

“Sometimes, I wish I could love you back.”

She fled into the night, not giving him a chance to respond.

 


	6. (S7) 2002

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is set after 'Showtime'. Many, many thanks for all the reviews! And I DO have another chapter after this, so don't fret, we won't end before we get to better Spuffy times.

 

Season Seven - 2002

 

 

He drifted in and out of consciousness, amazed to find himself in her bed, surrounded by her scent.  She brought him blood, fed him, kept him comfortable in the dark and the quiet.  Stroked his brow, held his hand, told him he was safe now.

Ignored his tears.

Spike listened to her footsteps as they echoed closer, sitting up carefully when the door opened.  He couldn’t hide the wince of pain and she noticed, hurrying to his side to help.

“Let me, Spike.”

“It’s – ah – yeah, all right.  Thanks.”  He took the mug from her with a grateful nod.  “Quiet tonight.  No pitter patter of teenaged feet.”

The vampire could just see the barest hint of a shy smile through the gloom.  “Sent them all to Xander’s for the evening.  So we could have the house to ourselves.”

His unbeating heart froze.  “Yeah?  An’ why’s that?”

Buffy leaned forward, brushing his cheek with the back of her hand in a feather-light caress.  “You probably lost track of time down…”  She grimaced.  “I’m so sorry.  I wish I’d gotten there-”

“You came, Buffy.  That’s… You came.”  Spike wouldn’t dare to call it love, but something blazed in her eyes.  Something that made him want to weep.

She looked away first.  “Anyhow.  It’s our night.  Last day of the year.”  Facing him once more, she added.  “I… I didn’t think I’d get to you in time.  For tonight.  And it… made me a little crazy.  _Nothing_ messes with what’s mine.”

“I’m yours now, am I?”

Buffy blinked rapidly, and his heart fell, waiting for her to deny it. 

“Of course you are, William.  You’ve always been mine.”  He swallowed, stunned, as she took his hand.  “Just like I’m yours.  Your… friend, you know,” she hedged.

“Yeah.  Friends.”  He reached up to wipe away the tears that had collected in her eyes.

She shuddered, took a deep breath.  “You don’t know… how terrified I was.  Of that _thing_.”

Spike traced the cut on her cheek with one finger.  “But you did it?  Kicked its ass?”

“I had to.  It was keeping me from getting to you.”  She looked away again, spoke to the patch of light spilling through the open doorway.  “That’s not the only thing I was afraid of.  I was afraid of losing you.  Of being alone tonight.”

He couldn’t speak.  Wouldn’t know what to say even if he could.  He took her hand again, pressed it against his lips.  They sat in silence for several long minutes.

 

 

Buffy wanted to wrap her arms around Spike and kiss him senseless, but it wasn’t what they did anymore.  They were friends now, and it was safer.  Nobody got hurt that way.  She was determined not to screw up their tentative friendship, despite how she longed to touch him more intimately, like the lovers they'd never truly been.  She couldn’t help but be tender, though, with this man who’d returned to her with a soul and a conscience and a desperate desire to be near her. 

Squeezing his hand gently, she asked, “Think you can make it downstairs?  If not, it’s no big.  I can haul the television up here.”

He shifted, testing out his aches.  “Be good for me to be up and moving around, I wager.  Let you have your bed back too, been in it too long.” 

Right there, that was the proof that Spike was a different man.  The old, soulless Spike would have never said any such thing.  Or he would have leered as he said it.  This vampire said he’d been in her bed too long without a trace of suggestiveness or irony, not even realizing how his words made her wish she could keep him there forever.

“Hasn’t been that long,” Buffy answered.  “Barely even a day.”

“Really?  That’s it?”  She nodded.  “Well then.  No wonder I still feel like shite.  Not such a limp noodle as I thought.”

She moved out of his way as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, helping him to stand when he grit his teeth, trying to hold back a moan.  “You don’t have to be all macho with me.  I know how tough you are.  You’ve got nothing to prove.”

“Just… take it slow, love,” he panted.

 

 

Buffy settled him on the couch, then turned to the telly.  Spike watched the curve of her back as she bent over, noticed the way she favored one side.  The Slayer wasn’t quite healed yet either, and he felt a stab of guilt.  She’d been injured coming for him.  Grateful though he was, he didn’t want her hurt because of him.  Not ever again.  He suppressed a sigh, gave her a smile as she turned back to him.

“You want something to drink?  I know how to make tea now.  Or so Giles tells me.  Or… I’ve got more blood.  No liquor though.  I could probably get some…”

He patted the cushion next to him.  “Just sit with me, quiet-like?”

“Of course.”  She settled next to him, her thigh brushing his.  “So.  Think we’ll be around to do this next year?”

“Better not be thinking of dying on me, Summers.  Not again.”

“Think it’s more a question of everyone dying.  The First…”

“Will be defeated.  By you and your little band of do-gooders, same as ever.”

She smacked him on the shoulder, but lightly.  “Hey.  You’re part of that little band, now, mister.”

“Not likely to forget,” he chuckled.  They sat quietly again, watching the celebration on the screen, Spike wondering at all the people who knew nothing of the one girl who made it possible for them to live their lives with such abandon.  He wanted to reach through the screen and grab them, shake them hard, make them acknowledge her and all she sacrificed.

Her hand brushed his, and he turned to more selfish thoughts;  namely, wondering if she would kiss him this year.  Spike longed to feel her lips against his once more, even as he chastised himself for thinking of it.  He didn’t deserve any such thing, not from the woman by his side.

Still, he hoped she would.

 

 

The countdown began, and Buffy’s heart raced.  This night – it didn’t count.  Right?  She could kiss him without consequence, without recrimination.  Without ruining anything.  She wondered if he wanted her to.  If he was fighting the same battle inside his head.  His lips were slightly parted, eyes focused on the screen, his posture stiff.  Buffy didn’t know if that was a good sign or not.  If he was anticipating a kiss with pleasure… or trepidation.

_Forty-five… forty-four… forty-three…_

She whimpered low in her throat and he froze, stiller than death, his heaving chest suddenly inert.  A strangled, “Love?” escaped, but he didn’t turn to face her.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Buffy whispered.

Spike turned to look at her then.  “Less’n you’re planning on using me for target practice, you won’t.  Not tonight.”

_Thirty… twenty-nine… twenty-eight…_

“So… it would be okay?”

“Need something to dream of, don’t I?”  She licked her lips, nodded.  Swiveled to straddle him carefully, and brushed the unruly curls from his forehead.  Spike cupped her face with his hands.  “Can’t break with tradition, after all,” he murmured.

“Maybe we should… Our lives have kinda sucked since we started this.”

_Ten… nine… eight…_

“Dunno.  We’re both still here. Together.  S’not so bad is it?”

“Now that you’re home again?  Not so bad at all.”  Buffy leaned forward, her mouth capturing his in a kiss that was more tender than any they’d ever shared, and more bittersweet because of it.

_Happy New Year!_

The kiss lingered on.  And on.  Buffy was reluctant to pull away, knowing that she wouldn’t have an excuse to kiss Spike again.  Not for an entire year.  They pulled apart at the same time, foreheads pressed together.

“See?” Spike said.  “All the more reason to survive the coming year.  Knowing what’s waiting at the end of it.”

She smiled as she slid off him, wishing she had the courage to not wait an entire year before she kissed him again. 

_When this is over_ , she told herself.  _When this apocalypse is over and he’s de-triggered and I’m no longer playing Mama Slayer … if he still wants me…_

_I’ll tell him then._

 


	7. (Angel S5) 2003

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is set either during or after 'Soul Purpose'. Angel S5 is really hard to reconcile with Buffy... Spike is supposed to pop out of the amulet only 19 days later, and when get gets his body he says something about it being only 3 months since Sunnydale... but we're well after Halloween by that point. Which means that the Sunnydale apocalypse happened August-ish -- later than usual, not earlier than usual. *Huffs* Oh well.

 

Season Five (Angel) - 2003

 

 

Spike watched the bloke leave the bar, following a woman dressed in her come-hither best.  Stupid wanker didn’t even realize the woman had no reflection.  Or pulse.  He took a sip of his bourbon, considered leaving them to it.  Idiot had no sense of self-preservation, why should Spike ride in and play the hero? 

He sighed and got up to follow, ignoring the urge to thin the herd that still coursed through his veins.  _She_ would be disappointed in him if he didn’t.  Once upon a time, that would have been the only impetus driving him; now, he had a stronger reason – he would be disappointed in himself.

Sodding soul.

Not only did it not let him live his unlife in peace, untroubled by other’s concerns, it made him a right bloody coward too.  Not in a fight, mind.  But a coward nonetheless.  Poncy William was back in the saddle, and Spike was none too happy about it.

He shoved his hands in his duster pockets as he stepped outside into the dark alleyway, his left closing around a stake, the right thumbing the well-worn edge of a now-worthless boat ticket.  The one he’d paid good money for – well, paid Angel’s good money for – and then let sail away without him.

_Coward_.

He gazed sightlessly at the snogging couple, barely registering the vamp’s mouth working its way ever closer to the man’s jugular while his thoughts played out in his head.

_No, not a coward.  You died to set her free._

_She’s expecting you.  Even if she doesn’t know you’re alive, some small part of her is waiting for you.  You should have been there, tonight of all nights.  Should have gone to her._

_Nah.  She wanted to break with tradition, remember?  Said the tradition had ruined her life – made it suck. You made it suck, mate.  She’s better off without the likes of you._

And on and on. 

Selfishly wanting to go to her, hoping she meant those last words to him, that despite all the pain and misery of their past, she would be happy to see him.  For tonight at least.

And equally determined to set her free.  Let her live her life, no matter how it killed him.  Bloody tradition was only, what, six years old after all.  Not much of a tradition anyhow.

Spike pulled the stake from his pocket, saved the man.  Lit a fag and leaned back against the filthy brick wall of the alley, tears coursing down his cheeks.

There would be no kiss to get him through this upcoming year.  Or any other.

 

 

Buffy stood outside the door, staring up at the sign, deliberating.  The place was a dive, exactly the sort of establishment she could have imagined her vampire in.  Had he been alive.

But he wasn’t.  Burnt up, gone, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.  These days, she could accept it.  Think of him with more smiles than tears.  Usually.

Tonight was a different story.  Tonight – he should have been with her.

“ _All the more reason to survive the coming year_ ,” he’d said.“ _Knowing what’s waiting at the end of it._ ”

But he hadn’t. 

Had he?

She scrubbed at her face, undecided still.  She could go in, wait out the New Year amongst the strangers within, a drink in hand to numb the pain, or she could head back to the sterile hotel room and curl up under the covers to cry herself to sleep.  The second option beckoned.  It had been a long while since she’d had a good cry.

Buffy squared her shoulders and pushed her way inside, face set in grim lines of determination.  Spike had died so she would live.  Okay, pissing the night away in this dive wasn’t exactly living it up, but it wasn’t hiding away, sobbing broken-heartedly, either.

Her back to the room, she seated herself at the bar and ordered a drink, then let that tiny, crazy, hopeful feeling in the pit of her stomach flutter back to life.

_Maybe… just maybe… he isn’t dead._

She wasn’t floundering in lunatic delusion.  There was a solid reason why that crazy little thought kept working itself free.  That solid reason was why she’d flown all the way to L.A. today, cash only, without telling another soul of her true destination.

Buffy had woken in the dead of night in a cold sweat, gripped with the certainty that not only was Spike alive, but he was in danger.  Her dream had had the ring of truth about it, that certain hyper-reality that came with Slayer visions.  Without giving it a second thought, she’d packed up, used her emergency funds to purchase a ticket, and left without a word.

Just in case she _was_ crazy.

Not that there was anybody to leave word with anyhow.  Her friends were scattered across the globe, only Dawn nearby.  The teen had easily been convinced that her sister was taking a well-deserved vacation, and more than happy to spend the rest of the holiday break with her own friends.

Throughout the long plane ride to L.A., Buffy had been determined to march straight to Angel’s office and demand answers, but the minute she’d landed her resolve had faltered, and by the time she’d settled into the hotel it had completely fled.

_Tomorrow_ , she’d told herself.  _I’ll deal with Angel tomorrow._

So here she was, getting progressively tipsier and wondering if she’d gone mad.  Her mind wandered back to her dream, trying to puzzle it out.  Angel had been in it, along with a man who called himself Doyle… and Spike.  Spike in all his leather-clad, punked out, bad-ass glory had been alive in her dream, hanging out in a strip club, ogling the girls and arguing with this Doyle.  Buffy didn’t know why, but she knew this Doyle character was bad news for Spike.  Was going to get him hurt somehow.

She shook her head.  Trying to logic out a Slayer dream while boozing it up was not productive Buffy time.  She glanced at the clock again, dismayed to see that time seemed to have stopped, keeping her trapped in the year from hell.

_Maybe if I smashed the clock…?_

The Slayer snorted away the ridiculous idea, then headed for the restroom.  _That should pass a few minutes, at least._

 

 

When he re-entered through the back door, Spike’s senses went haywire, making him dizzy. 

_Buffy…_  

He scanned the room, eyes wide, panting, but no, there was no sign of her.  Just a lingering scent.  A scent he would know anywhere.

_You’ve gone off your rocker, William.  Girl’s not here, it’s all in your mind._

Of course it was.  He was dreaming of her, wanting her, needing her.  Of course his mind would trick him into thinking Buffy was here.  Spike returned to his booth, tucked away in a gloomy corner where nobody was likely to see him, and got back to work on the bottle of bourbon that was miraculously still there.

_Should have gone to her._

_It’s better this way._

He rolled his head about his neck, lit a fag, and took a long drag.  The Slayer scent got stronger and Spike dug his fist into his forehead, trying to will it away.  It didn’t go.  Obviously he needed something with more of a punch.

The vampire twisted to face the bar. 

And froze.

Either fate was playing a cruel trick on him, or smacking him over the head with a two-by-four and telling him to get a bleeding clue.  He had no sodding idea which it was.  According to this Doyle chappie, he was the new poster boy for the Ponces That Be… so why would they jerk him around by putting what he wanted most within spitting distance? 

To test his dedication to his supposed new calling?

To give him a lesson in martyrdom? 

That was the Great Brooder’s raison d’être, not his.  Never his.  Spike was a weak man.  Put what he craved most in this world right in front of him, and his nobility fled like a timid virgin before the ravening hordes. 

Spike stood.  Sat.  Dithered.  Stood again. 

_Sod the buggers._  

He was nobody’s whipping boy, soul or not.  He made his own bloody fate.  If the higher ups didn’t like it, they could smite him, or whatever the hell these types did when royally pissed.  Wasn’t his concern.

Not when Buffy was right there, only feet away.

 

 

She felt him.  Somehow… oh, God.  She felt him.  Couldn’t see him in the mirror, but knew he was there, behind her.

Either that or she really was losing her mind.

Buffy didn’t turn around.  She couldn’t bear it if he was just a hallucination born of desperate longing.

The seat next to her creaked.  “You’re here.”  It was his deep voice, roughened by emotion.  She shut her eyes tight.  Let her other senses take him in.  If she didn’t open her eyes, he couldn’t disappear.

Buffy licked her lips, managed to speak despite the dryness in her mouth.  “More precisely, _you’re_ here.  What’s up with that?  I thought you were dead.” 

“’Ve heard that before.  Could give a fellow a complex, seeing as I can’t do anything ‘bout this unbeating heart of mine.”  A tremor wracked her body.  Slowly, so slowly, she turned towards the sound of her voice and opened her eyes.  Spike waggled his eyebrows.  “Hello, cutie.”

She found herself hyperventilating, her ragged breath impossible to hold on to.  “Oh, god.  Oh god oh god oh god.  You’re… are you real?  Not just in my mind?”  She reached out to touch him and snatched her hand back, sure that nothing solid would be there.  “If you’re the First trying to fuck with me, so help me God, you’ll regret it.”

Spike took her hand and brought it to his mouth, his cool lips brushing the back of her hand in an ephemeral kiss.  “Real as I ever was.”

“But you’re _dead_ ,” she repeatedly stupidly.

He gave her an enigmatic smile, raising his other hand and laying two fingers over his jugular.  “Whaddya know, Slayer, you’re right.  ‘M dead after all.  Thanks for the tip.  But…”  He held her hand tighter, whispered his next words.  “Please don’t go.”

Her heart was tumbling, her mind spinning.  Buffy was so dizzy, she thought she might faint.  “How…?  No, don’t tell me.  I don’t care right now.”

“Had a date to keep, you and I.  Death couldn’t keep us apart.”

A hysterical giggle burst out of her mouth.  “Thank you, Wesley.  Dread Pirate Wesley, that is.”  She used her free hand to wipe at the tears streaming down her face, still not believing this was really happening.  “Jesus, Spike.  I have had the worst year of my life,” she laughed.  “Because you were _dead_.  And the worst part was knowing I’d really be alone this year.”  Buffy closed her eyes, shook her head.  “No,” she said fiercely.  “No matter how ironic or poetic or whatever that is, the real worst part is that you didn’t believe me.  You said I didn’t love you.”

 

 

Christ.  It felt like his heart had just kickstarted in his chest.  Bloody bugger hurt like hell.  She’d meant it?  Buffy was saying something else now, and he had to get over his elation, try to focus on her words.

“Why didn’t you find me?  Or call me?  Or…?”

How to explain?  There was no proper way to make her understand his fear, his certainty that he had to let her go.

Buffy took his other hand in hers.  “How long?”

“Bit hard to answer that.  To make a long and painful story short, was a ghost for awhile.  Just got this body back… few weeks ago now.”

All the color drained from her face.  “A few weeks?”

“Uh…”  _Bollocks._   “See, I was on my way to you, love.  Even got this ticket, here.”  He yanked it out, shoved it in her hand.  Proof that he’d thought about her.  “But then…”  _I was a bloody coward.  Didn’t know what was the right thing to do._   “Things came up,” he finished lamely.

“Things…”  Her face flickered between anger and hurt.

“Well…  found out I had this destiny, see.  Helping the helpless and whatnot.  Got a bit… distracted.”

“Too distracted to call me, let me know I didn’t need to be crying my eyes out over you anymore?  So… _distracted_ … you forgot that we… that tonight… that…”  Angry tears were spilling out. 

Christ, he was a first-class wanker.

 

 

The television suddenly got louder, the sounds of cheering and chanting echoing about the bar.  One old drunk let out a bleary, “Happy New Year!” then tumbled sideways off his seat. 

Buffy didn’t notice any of it. 

He’d been alive.  For weeks.  Been alive, and not told her, not come to her, not even called or sent a note.  If she hadn’t followed a damn dream, she would have never known he was alive.  How much longer would he have kept it from her?

The worst, the absolute most final, damning nail in the coffin was that even when Spike had hated her, he’d sought her out to keep their ‘date’. 

This year, he hadn’t.

It was echoes of Drusilla.  He’d chased his lunatic girlfriend for over a century, desperate to be her everything even when she pushed him away… until he’d finally given up.  Hadn’t cared anymore.

And this was what it had come to.  He didn’t care.  She was too late. 

When he’d said _she_ didn’t mean it, what he’d really meant was _he_ didn’t. 

He didn’t love her, not anymore.  Didn’t even want her to know he was alive.

“I have had _the_ worst year of my entire life, and I’ve had some pretty awful ones.  But this one took the prize _because you died_.  You should know what that’s like.  Even if… even if you didn’t care to be around me anymore…”  _Even if you were happy to be free of me…_   “You still could have let me know.  So it didn’t hurt so damn much.”

He was trying to speak, to apologize, but Buffy didn’t want to hear it.  Didn’t want him to make something up, just to make her feel better.

“No.  Don’t lie to me.  You didn’t… you didn’t come to me.  I get it now, I never should have-”

Spike shut her up, crashing his lips to hers just as the shout of “Happy New Year!” blared from the television overhead.  She moaned into his mouth, just for a moment, but the hot tears continued to stream down her cheeks, choking her. 

Buffy shoved the man she loved away.

“I take it back,” she whispered.  “I’d rather believe you’re still dead.  It hurts less.” 

_Hurts less than knowing you’re alive and don’t want me._

She turned and fled blindly, desperate sobs tearing through her.

 

 

Spike stared at where she’d stood only seconds before, the taste of her lips strong on his, her tears still wet on his face.  He didn’t understand what had just happened.  He’d been gloriously, deliriously happy, and then…

Somehow it had all gone pear-shaped.  He shook his head, trying to make sense of it all.  She was angry with him, he got that much, even if he hadn’t quite caught up to the why of it.

_I’d rather believe you’re still dead.  It hurts less._

What the bloody hell did that mean?

_Means you were right, you ass, to leave her be.  You bring her nothing but pain and suffering._

He took an involuntary step forward, then another. He needed to stop her.  Explain to her.

_You need to not be a selfish bastard.  She’s not meant for you._

Spike felt rather smited, all things considered. 

_Fucking Powers._

He roared out his frustration, smashing everything within reach.

And let the girl go.

 

 

 ******************************************************************

 

**NOTES:**

Wha…?  Wait, what? 

_What the hell just happened???_

Hi.  My name is Spuffy Luvr, and I’m an angstoholic.

*Shakes her head.*   Geez, you guys should know by now that if a story goes longer than a few chapters, I’m going to go for the heart-crushing, soul-wrenching angst.  And if you’re just meeting me… Sorry about that.  :)   Heh.  Not really.

But see, I figured out how to keep things canon.  Go me.  Spike’s going to stay with Angel, Buffy is going to go back home, all is canon in the Buffyverse (work with me on this).  And lucky you, you get one more chapter.  One that will blithely ignore all post-TV show comics, ‘cause we all know _those_ aren’t canon.

 I’ll tell you a secret:  This next chapter really will result in gooey Spuffy goodness.  I promise.  It’s already written.

Love me now?

 


	8. (A Different Kind of New Year) 2004

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the Spuffy goodness I promised, and this story is now COMPLETE! Thanks for coming along for the ride and sharing your thoughts. As always, all props to Joss Whedon and his associates, without whom I would need to find a different obsession. 
> 
> A very happy and prosperous 2013 to all my readers!

 

 

A Different Kind of New Year (2004)

 

 

Spike staggered down a dimly lit Roman hallway, the blood and gore and smoke of a battle only hours past still coating him.

He’d stood in this same hallway scant weeks ago, another vampire by his side.  That vampire wasn’t here now.  Never would be again.  Spike scrubbed at his eyes, still not comprehending how it was that he had made it when the bloody hero of the piece hadn’t.  Life was short and unpredictable and –

Well, that was why he was here, wasn’t it?  He’d been beyond stupid to let Buffy go.  He loved her.  _Loved_ her.  No matter what else changed in the world, that never would.  And if she still loved him, even a little bit…

The bloody Immortal could kiss his pasty white bum.

 _Moving on_ ,  he scoffed _.  Christ.  As if._

She wasn’t moving on with that wanker.  No chance in hell.  Not if he had any say in it.

Between the soul and the dying and the working with Evil Inc, Spike had been spun right round ‘till he didn’t know who he was anymore.  ‘Till he was a coward and a pansy.  Who’d royally fucked up the best thing that had ever happened to him.

The first mistake had been letting Buffy run off after Fate had dropped her right in his sodding lap.  Well, no, the _first_ had been letting that boat leave without him, and the _second_ had been letting her rabbit away.  He’d blundered again when that little pipsqueak, Andrew, had offered to tell the tale of Spike’s return to the land of the unliving. 

He’d said no. 

Girl already knew he was alive, didn’t she.  Wasn’t the problem.  The problem was that the woman of his dreams wanted to pretend he was still dead.  Their pisser of a reunion was still fresh enough that he’d panicked, telling the Watcher wannabe that he would tell Buffy himself when the time was right.  If somebody else told her, she wouldn’t be able to pretend anymore.  She’d be forced to do something about it, forced to acknowledge his existence in some way, and Spike didn’t want her forced into it.  He wanted her to make that decision for herself.  Come to him when she was ready. 

Or so he told himself.

If he’d been a man about it, he would have used the opportunity to fix his earlier fuck-up, not cowered behind his excuses.  But he hadn’t.

The final misstep?  That blasted trip to Rome.  He should have stayed there, insisted on waiting until she came home.  But Angel had been with him, and Spike had been so turned around, so involved in his grandsire’s business, that he hadn’t followed his heart.  He’d walked away, and told himself he was doing the right thing.

No more. 

If there was one thing this latest apocalypse had taught him, had reminded him of, it was who he was.  He wasn’t some nancy boy, no.  He was William the Goddamned Bloody, who knew what he wanted and stopped at nothing to get it.

What he wanted was Buffy.

Resolve freshly mustered, Spike sagged against the doorframe to her apartment, worn and weary, tattered duster hanging off his gaunt frame.  He stilled his chest and listened carefully, trying to suss out if she was home.  Through the thick wooden door, he could hear the sounds of… lips smacking?  His hands dug into the trim until it splintered, jaw clenched, eyes flashing gold.

The Immortal was here, was he?  Spike licked his fangs and grinned, ever so pleased that he already had an invite. 

He’d make an entrance the bloody Immortal would remember for all eternity.

 

 

Buffy cuddled her boyfriend, warm and comfortable on the couch, lips dancing with his.   

And then not.   Said boyfriend was suddenly ripped away and sent flying though the air, landing on the other side of the room with a startled cry.  Buffy herself was so stunned, her normal reactions didn’t kick in.  Instead she lay there, gaping like a fish, staring at...

Spike.  Or his back, to be precise.  He’d whirled away from her and was watching the man he’d tossed across the room.

Her boyfriend gazed back, calm, cold, and lethal.  Spike didn’t even wait for the much larger man to finish climbing to his feet.  He rushed the Immortal, grabbing him by the shirt and pants and chucking him out the still open door with a yell of, “Piss off, mate, you’re not wanted here.”  Slamming the door shut, the vampire twisted the locks in rapid succession, then turned to face her, his battered face smug.

“Hello, Buffy.”

 

 

He took a step backwards.  And another.  Okay, maybe a grand entrance had been entirely too rash an idea.  Should have thought that one through a bit more.  Spike held his hands up, trying to placate the livid blonde spitfire in front of him.

Buffy made it clear she wasn’t about to be placated, an angry right hook sending him sprawling.  She stomped over to him and hoisted him off the ground as easily as if he were a child, but Spike knew her fighting style.  The Slayer was going easy on him.  Mindful of the injuries he already had.  He was right appreciative.

“What.”  Punch.  “Gives.”  Smack.  “You.”  Jab.  “The right.”  Slap.  “To do that, huh?”  Another punch.  “To come in here and go all caveman on my boyfriend?” she snarled, shaking him like a ragdoll.  If he hadn’t been so drained to start with, he might have been able to put up a token resistance, but as it was, all Spike could do was hang limply in her grasp.

Still, he had his pride.  “Mostly, it’s that you would even call the ponce that.”  He turned his head and expelled a glob of blood, right onto her shoes.

“My _boyfriend_?”

“Really, Slayer,” he sniffed, “I knew you had bad taste in men, but the bloody Immortal?  Have you lost all sense?”  If looks could kill, he’d be floating in the air right about now.

Buffy dropped him and strode away, wrenching the front door open and halting the pounding noise that had been emanating from it.  A hissed conversation ensued, one that he couldn’t hear clearly, what with all the ringing in his ears.  Groaning painfully, Spike hauled himself to his feet just as she slammed the front door shut and relocked it.  Buffy pivoted and stalked towards him, her face a mask of fury. 

He had to resist the urge to flee.

The Slayer paused right in front of him, nose to nose, her green eyes blazing with anger.  “Explain.  Now.”

He couldn’t help himself.  He grabbed her. 

And kissed her.  Hard.

 

 

She couldn’t help herself.  She wanted to stay furious.  To beat him to a bloody pulp and then maybe beat him some more.  To kick him out and never see him again, because – hello?  Who the hell did he think he was?

But no, she melted into Spike like some kind of stupid romance bimbo, all clutching at his shirt and whimpering into his mouth and not thinking about anything but the feel of his strong arms around her.  The arms she’d been dreaming of for months now.

Breathing became an issue, but she ignored it until Spike pulled away, freeing her mouth for air once more.

“Happy New Year, Buffy.”

She couldn’t process his words.  “Huh?  What are you talking about?  It’s not New Year’s Eve, you idiot.”  Her brain might be all fuzzy, but she was pretty sure of that.

He smiled at her, blue eyes twinkling.  “T’is.  A New Year for us.  The start of something new.”  He hesitated, his smug, self-assured smirk slipping away to be replaced by a more questioning look.  “If you want, that is.”

Buffy licked her lips.  Tried to summon her righteous anger.  Couldn’t. 

Spike was _here.  Here!_  

But… again with the huh?  Hadn’t he moved on?  Andrew had said he’d come by looking for her, but she hadn’t believed it meant anything.  After all, he’d left after only a few attempts.  Spike hadn’t been very persistent about seeing her, and if there was one thing you could say about a lovelorn William the Bloody, it was that he was a persistent son of a bitch.

“I don’t understand.  What brought this on?  I thought… I thought you were over me.”

“O-over you?” he spluttered.  “Bloody hell, woman, I’ll never be over you.”  He pulled her tighter.  “Look, I know I was a right wanker when I saw you last, bollixed everything up good and proper.  But… I almost died yesterday.  Again.  Whole world almost died, actually…” he trailed off, lost in his memories.

An apocalypse she didn’t know about?  Buffy frowned, then prompted, “Spike?” when he stayed silent.

He gave her a sad smile.  “Story for another time, love.  Point was, I realized I could have lost you for good.  Was a bloody fool to let you go.  An’ I don’t care if you’re dating all of Rome, pet, I’ll fight for you with everything I have.  Show you what you mean to me.”

It was too much to take in.  She’d spent months believing Spike was dead and gone, followed by months of believing he didn’t love her anymore.  Now he showed up out of the blue, attacked her boyfriend, and assaulted her lips?  Then tried to claim her heart? 

Buffy wasn’t ready to believe him.  It had to be a horrible trick of some kind.

“No no no.  No way.  You’ve over me.  You didn’t come to me when you got your body back.  I know how this goes.  You chased Dru for decades, and then gave up.  No more.  You don’t stop chasing until-”

“You stupid bint.  Is that why you ran out on me?  That what you thought?”

He was insulting her now?  “Uh, yes.”

“Thought you knew me better than that, Buffy.”

 _Hello, anger.  There you are._   She shoved him away.

Spike clenched his fists.  “No, sorry.  Don’t… I… _Fuck_.  Not your fault, t’was mine.  I should have made it clear I care about you and-”

“I care about you too.”

He blinked at her, then snorted.  “Sod caring.  I bloody well _love_ you Buffy Summers.”  He stared at her with those intense blue eyes, waiting for a response she couldn’t force past her lips.

 

 

_Oh William, you damn fool.  You let her get away, and now it’s too late.  The Immortal isn’t a cry for help, you wanker, he’s her boyfriend.  And you are not._

She was still gawking at him, chest heaving, green eyes clouded with confusion.

“You love me?” Buffy asked uncertainly.

A fool had to try.  “From the bottom of my unbeating heart.  Even if you don’t feel the same way, Buffy, I had to tell you.  Now.  Before I lost the chance.”

“You love me?” she repeated.

Spike felt the muscle in his jaw begin to tick.  What the hell did she want, flowers and candies?  Banks of flickering candles and violins?  Poetry?   “Yes, I love you.  Shouldn’t be so hard to believe.  Not like I’ve changed that much – not in any way that matters.”

“But Dru-”

“You say her name one more time-” he snarled, then got control of himself.  “I’ve told you Buffy, you’re it for me.  I dunno how to make you believe me.  Tried chains.  Tried showing you with my body.  Had my sodding soul shoved back in me, gave up everything I was, just for you.  I’ve protected those you love, died so you could live.  Even made the occasional speech ‘bout how much I love you.  If you don’t get this by now…”

Buffy blinked, her mouth a perfect ‘o’ of surprise.  Spike could sense her heart fluttering away, hear her pulse racing over the renewed banging at the door.

“And… you want to start a new tradition with me,” she said with maddening deliberation.

Throwing his hands up, he snapped, “Look, I can see I’ve wasted my-”

She punched him in the nose.  Then kissed him.

Hard. 

Hands clutching at him like a drowning woman, leg wrapped around his, her body pressed so tight it was hard to tell where he ended and she began.  “Don’t you ever not tell me you’re alive again,” she gasped when she pulled back for air. 

He searched her eyes, found the answer he was looking for in their blazing depths.   Buffy smiled shyly at him when she spoke, the pounding at the door almost drowning out her quiet words.  “I love you too, you know.  And you’d better believe it this time.” 

“Yeah,” he nodded fervently, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard, his emotions overwhelming him.  He did.  This time, he did.

“Happy New Year, Spike,” she said, her voice soft, eyes softer yet.

 “Happy bloody New Year, Buffy,” he answered, a goofy grin spreading over his face. 

She wore a matching grin.  “So tell me, how does this new tradition work?”

“Well, see, we aren’t alone together, not anymore.  We’re just… together.”

Her grin widened.  “I’m surprisingly okay with that.”

 

 

Buffy wasn’t sure how long it took for the pounding at the door to stop.  She was too busy worrying about other things.

Like kissing her vampire senseless. 

And enjoying the New Year.

 

**THE END**


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